


Every Family Has One

by ncfan



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Númenor, POV Female Character, Second Age, somewhat AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 19:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15565134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: The first thing Ancalimë noticed was the multitude of boxes the strange man had had brought into the room.





	Every Family Has One

**Author's Note:**

> I know the timeline doesn’t work out, that Ancalimë would have been in the Emerië with her mother while this was going on, but I wanted to write this ficlet (And seeing as it’s Elrond giving Meneldur the letter from Gil-galad, it’s already AU, anyways). Thank anghraine for putting the image of Elrond as that weird uncle who shows up on Númenor once every twenty years or so to spoil his nieces and nephews into my head.

The first thing Ancalimë noticed was the multitude of boxes the strange man had had brought into the room. Wood they were, smooth and shining black and red and rich brown and pale, buttery yellow, gleaming in the light of the sun. Some were large enough for a full-grown man to lie down in them and disappear from sight. Some were so small that Ancalimë could have held them easily in the palm of her small hand. They smelled strange—not _bad_ , mind, but they smelled of crisp, sharp things Ancalimë had no name for, maybe flowers or herbs.

The second thing she noticed was that the man who had brought them in, the man Grandfather called _uncle_ in spite of the fact that Tar-Amandil’s second son was long dead, was… strange. He looked like a Númenórean, had the night-dark hair and shining gray eyes so common among Ancalimë’s mother’s kin (though his skin was much paler, the color of the sand on the shores of the Hyarnustar), but there was something… different. Strange.

She was still trying to figure out what was strange about him when Grandfather eyed the boxes, and with that pinched, tired voice he used quite a lot, asked, “I don’t suppose you’ve got my son in one of those.”

The strange man whom Ancalimë was _not_ convinced was actually her uncle shook his head. “I’m afraid not, though Anardil is part of the reason I’m here. I have books for you, and other things. Almiel asked for certain seeds, and I have some things that I hope this little one—” here his eyes fixed on Ancalimë, and he smiled; Ancalimë responded by furrowing her brow and taking a step closer to Grandfather “—might like.”

“He goes by Aldarion, these days, and I’ll look at the books later; thank you for bringing them. So…” Grandfather straightened, tried to smile and only managed to look like he had a bit of a headache, and said, “for what reason are you here that has to do with my son, if he hasn’t seen fit to come home, _again_?”

The strange man took two envelopes from the front of his rich blue tunic. “I have a letter from Gil-galad. You’ll want to read it soon. It’s…” His bright eyes flickered to Ancalimë, and he hesitated. “…It’s important that you read it soon.” Here, his brow furrowed in a way that Ancalimë recognized with a jolt as being a mirror of her own. Rather more delicately, he said, “I also have a petition.”

“About what?” Grandfather asked, though frankly he sounded like he would rather be asking about _anything_ else.

“About the number of trees he’s been cutting down.”

Grandfather let out an exasperated sigh. “Of course.” He crossed the room to where the strange man stood, took the envelopes out of his hands rather less gently than he could have, and said, without looking at Ancalimë, “Ancalimë, child, I need to… _deal_ with these. This is your uncle, Elrond. Since he has no children of his own, he has made it his life’s ambition to spoil rotten as many of his brother’s descendants as he can.”

And with that, Grandfather left the room, leaving Ancalimë alone with the strange man and his multitude of boxes.

Ancalimë eyed the man who evidently _was_ her uncle— _Elrond_ , Grandfather called him, and the name sounded familiar, though Ancalimë wasn’t entirely certain why—dubiously. She rather wished she had Mámë, her toy sheep, with her, though it wouldn’t have served well as a shield. Maybe as something to throw as a distraction.

For his part, Elrond did not approach, did not attempt to touch her or hug her, which made him a little better than Aunt Ailinel, though only just. Instead, he murmured, “Ancalimë… How old are you?”

“I’m six. You’re strange,” Ancalimë said flatly.

“Oh?” Elrond raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t seem particularly offended. “How so?”

“You…” Ancalimë struggled to put it into words. She thought she finally had it, but there wasn’t a _word_. “…You’re like an Elf, but not. But you’re not a Man, either.”

Elrond knelt down so they were on eye level, some ten feet away from each other. He smiled, gently, and if his eyes looked slightly sad as he did so, it was gone in a flash. “I am a Númenórean, Ancalimë. I’m just a Númenórean who elected to live on, where others have passed away.”


End file.
